


Vanilla Cream and Cinnamon Whiskey

by MercuryShep



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Christmas fic, Gay, M/M, Mistletoe, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21850579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryShep/pseuds/MercuryShep
Summary: A few months after the Almost-End of the World, Aziraphale suggests that he and Crowley take up a few human traditions. One tradition Crowley seems particularly eager to participate in is the practice of kissing under the mistletoe.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47





	Vanilla Cream and Cinnamon Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is extremely gay, extremely self-indulgent, and extremely tender. I was inspired to write this after torturing my girlfriend with the song Mistletoe by Justin Bieber for the 20th time this week. Enjoy!

An unusual warmth and brightness danced through the air within Crowley’s otherwise lifeless flat, save for the impressive jungle of houseplants in his office. This cheery atmosphere was not surprising, however ー Aziraphale always seemed to have a way of bringing radiance and general goodness wherever he went. The surprising part of it all was the beaming smile on the angel’s face as he slipped on his blue gingham oven mitts (to match his apron and his bow tie) and pulled a batch of homemade sugar cookies from the never-before-used oven.

“I don’t understand why you couldn’t just miracle up a couple dozen cookies already done and ready to eat, Aziraphale.” Crowley leaned with his forearm against the wall, his eyebrow raised skeptically from behind his glasses at the mess of baking ingredients scattered across the countertop. 

Aziraphale scoffed indignantly at Crowley’s judgemental tone, turning his back on him to set the cookie tray down gingerly atop the stove. “Well, if you _must_ know,” he began, turning around to face the demon who was now suddenly standing only a step or two away from him, “Since Heaven and Hell have decided that they no longer want us, I figured I might as well try taking up a few Earthly practices. Baking is a rather interesting science, really, and so very human to create food with absolutely _no_ nutritional value or functional purpose. And besides, there are so many books on the subject one could simply be overwhelmed by all of the possibilities! Cookies, my dear, are just the start.” 

Crowley remained quiet as Aziraphale spoke on and on about baking, although his mischievous smirk told the angel that he had something up his sleeve. He took a step closer, his smile growing as he took Aziraphale’s hands and slowly pulled the mitts off of them one at a time. “I see,” he sang, his voice suspiciously cheerful, “In that case, I believe we’ll have to follow the humans’ other traditions as well, mm?” He continued to hold Aziraphale’s hands as he carefully watched the expression on his face, and as he did so he briefly wondered if the angel’s rosy cheeks and warm palms were the result of the heat of the oven or if this was simply their normal state. Either way, Crowley quite enjoyed it.

“What other traditions?” Aziraphale asked, tilting his head to the side slightly as he gazed up at Crowley with those wide eyes as blue as the day the sky was born. He looked puzzled, but curious; he squeezed Crowley’s hands gently in anticipation.

Of course, that was exactly the question Crowley was hoping for. In a single smooth motion he pulled Aziraphale in, guiding the Principality’s arms to rest naturally over his shoulders as he placed a hand on the small of his back. With his free hand Crowley pointed upwards, and his companion’s gaze followed it to where a bundle of mistletoe hung unassumingly from the ceiling. “Kiss me, angel,” he said, and without pause he took Aziraphale by the chin and placed a firm, but affectionate kiss on his angel’s pouting lips.

***

Crowley tasted like cinnamon whiskey. It was quite dangerous, how tempting this demon could be. For every day of December he continued with this silly display ー mistletoe would “coincidentally” appear over his head at the _most_ inopportune times, and he would _not_ shut up about it until Aziraphale kissed him. So kiss him Aziraphale did. 

This time the two had been dining out at Pied à Terre, one of Aziraphale’s most reliable sources of fine French cuisine that he could acquire without having to fly across the Channel. He should’ve known that something was out of the ordinary when Crowley didn’t protest to his meal suggestion; the demon had simply nodded and smiled and ushered him into the passenger seat of the Bentley, even holding the door open for him. Now that he thought of it, something was _definitely_ awry.

The entire dinner went surprisingly well, without any of Crowley’s usual hellish antics or inappropriate table talk. Aziraphale found himself having a genuinely nice time chatting with his former adversary, although he often lost focus on Crowley’s words as his mind wandered instead to the taste of his lips. How tempting they looked in the dim glow of the evening dinner lights. 

Crowley must’ve caught him staring, because just when Aziraphale allowed himself to be distracted by the bite of millefeuille balanced delicately on his dessert fork, the demon cleared his throat pointedly and flashed a smug grin. He lowered his shades just enough to make eye contact, leaning over the table as if he were about to whisper something important. Aziraphale, caught in his mesmerizing gaze, unconsciously mirrored his movement. When their faces were so close that their foreheads could nearly touch, Crowley smirked and raised his eyes to the hanging light fixture above their table where a small sprig of mistletoe now hung. Aziraphale immediately gasped and withdrew from his stance to sit snobbishly upright in his chair.

“ _Anthony J. Crowley!_ ” Aziraphale whispered sharply, arms tense at his sides as he scowled in annoyance at him. “You can’t _possibly_ expect us to do that here of all places. People could see us!”

Crowley, in fact, wanted people to see them. But rather than saying that out loud and irritating Aziraphale further, he stated matter-of-factly, “Well, rules are rules, angel. When we’re both caught under the mistletoe, we have to kiss. After all, aren’t you the one who suggested we take part in human traditions?”

Aziraphale was about to make some remark about how neither of them had ever been very good at following the rules, but before he could let out anything more than a squeak of surprise Crowley had him by the lapels of his coat and was rapidly closing the distance between them. The angel had no choice but to give in, his voice melting into a contented hum against Crowley’s lips. He closed his eyes and allowed his shoulders to relax, suddenly unable to give a damn what anyone else thought of them. Crowley tasted so much better than his dessert anyways.

***

The red-haired demon refused to let up on his little game with the mistletoe for a single day until Christmas came and went. Aziraphale eventually began to protest the kisses less and less, which only urged Crowley to make significantly grander and more embarrassing gestures each time (just to spice things up, of course). But Christmas ー although nowhere near accurate to the day Emmanuel was born ー served as a definite marker for the end of mistletoe season. Perhaps he would just have to find a new excuse to kiss him.

“How’s this?” asked Aziraphale, his gaze fixed on his reflection in the full-body mirror before him. For a creature who was supposedly pure and selfless in every capacity, he was certainly quite vain about his appearance. Currently he was frowning thoughtfully over which vest most closely matched his tie.

Crowley, after rolling his eyes, sauntered up to him and twirled him around by the shoulder so that they were facing one another. “Everything you wear is _unbearably_ good, angel. But I suspect you know that.” He squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulder briefly, but there was something about the angel’s expression that seemed off. Something about his face looked… mischievous. _Devious_ , even. It was almost unsettling. “What?” Crowley hissed with a tight-lipped frown, his voice slightly concerned. 

Unable to contain himself, Aziraphale bounced on his toes and giggled with giddy delight, before very sheepishly raising his hand from his side to reveal the mistletoe that had definitely not been there just moments ago. He had to reach up a bit to get it to hang over Crowley’s head, and Crowley took this as an opportunity to place his hand on Aziraphale’s waist. “Angel, I don’t think you understand how this works,” Crowley teased, glancing up at the sprig above him. “Once Christmas is over, the humans take all the mistletoe down and focus their attention on getting wildly drunk, swearing to completely unattainable goals, and doing things that will bring them immediate regret the next morning. New Year’s Eve is quite a popular holiday in Hell, actually.”

“Oh, just shut up and kiss me,” demanded Aziraphale, with a force that nearly knocked Crowley back. The demon smirked, fully prepared to razz him for being so demanding, but he had no time to do so because Aziraphale clasped the back of his neck with a surprising confidence and pulled him down to meet his lips in a kiss. Aziraphale tasted like vanilla cream.

The two remained interlocked in the embrace of one another for countless moments, even after Aziraphale dropped the mistletoe at their feet and rested his hand on Crowley’s chest. Their kisses were long and slow and achingly gentle, but Crowley allowed it ー in fact, he welcomed it. Passion and playful nibbling of the lips was definitely fun, he wasn’t afraid to admit. Heated, deep kisses awoke his corporeal form in a way of which he would never tire. But kisses like this, wrapped in Aziraphale’s warmth and soft affection, were the greatest kisses he had ever experienced. After all, what could be more human than love?


End file.
